The valley broadened steadily as we advanced. For several miles the look of the ground remained unchanged. I wondered what curious sort of metal this might be--so like copper in appearance. I doubted if it were copper, since even in this hot, moist air it seemed to have no property of oxidation. I asked Miela about it, and she gave me its Mercutian name at once; but of course that helped me not a bit. She added that outcroppings of it, almost in the pure state, like the great deposits of native copper I had seen on earth, occurred in many parts of Mercury. I remembered then Bob Trevor's mention of it as the metal of the apparatus used by the invaders of Wyoming. We went on three or four miles without encountering a single sign of life. No insects stirred underfoot; no birds flew overhead. We might have been--by the look of it--alone on a dead planet. "Is none of your mountain country inhabited, Miela?" I asked. She shook her head. "Only on the plains do people live. There is very little of good land in the Light Country, and so many people. That it is which has caused much trouble in the past. It is for that, many times, the Twilight People have made war upon us." I found myself constantly able to breathe more easily. Our progress down the valley seemed now irritatingly slow, for I felt I could walk or run three times faster than Miela. Finally I suggested to her that she fly, keeping near me; and that I would make the best speed forward I could. She stared at me quizzically. Then, seeing I was quite sincere, she flung her little arms up about my neck and pulled me down to kiss her. "Oh, Alan--the very best husband in all the universe, you are. None other could there be--like you." She had just taken off her scarf again when suddenly I noticed a little speck in the sky ahead. It might have been a tiny bird, flying toward us from the plains below. "Miela--look!" She followed the direction of my hand. The speck grew rapidly larger. "A girl, Alan," she said after a moment. "Let us wait." We stood silent, watching. It was indeed a girl, flying over the valley some two or three hundred feet above the ground. As she came closer I saw her wings were blue, not red like Miela's. She came directly toward us. Suddenly Miela gave a little cry. "Anina! Anina!" Without a word to me she spread her wings and flew up to meet the oncoming girl. I stood in awe as I watched them. They met almost above me, and I could see them hovering with clasped hands while they touched cheeks in affectionate greeting. Then, releasing each other, they flew rapidly away together--smaller and smaller, until a turn in the valley hid them entirely from my sight. I sat down abruptly. A lump was in my throat, a dismal lonesomeness in my heart. I knew Miela would return in a moment--that she had met some friend or relative--yet I could not suppress the vague feeling of sorrow and the knowledge of my own incapacity that swept over me.